


... and destroy your soul

by makingmovies



Series: these violent delights have violent ends [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Passion, Sex, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingmovies/pseuds/makingmovies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Where you go I go<br/>What you see I see<br/>I know I'd never be me<br/>Without the security<br/>of your loving arms"</p>
            </blockquote>





	... and destroy your soul

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own a thing.

They both know what is going to happen - Sherlock's incredible deductive skills are not needed to understand, yet they study each other like cats, just as they've always done since their weird, twisted relationship started.  
Sherlock's hair moves in rhyrthm with his breath, his eyes follow John, they admire him, they want him, they look into his soul. John knows that what leads Sherlock to him, what leads him to seek any strip of his skin, to look forward to John's breath on him, for once isn't boredom. It is the longing to belong to someone. And John knows he is the only one who can claim his property.  
They say nothing - there is nothing to tell. It had to happen. John lets Sherlock lead him to his bedroom; adrenaline dances in his veins, his head spins around while Sherlock's eyes never lose sight of him.  
Skin over skin, lips over lips, saliva against saliva, old and new odours mixed together, he feels blood pumped in his ears -can he hear him?-, Sherlock's eyelashes tickle his cheek; the hands search for skin, the nails scratch -whose nails?-, three, four, six cars pass and the window releases flashes into the half-lighted room; John feels like their bodies are going to melt together. Sherlock's breath on his neck, his hands which slip his shirt off, a bite, John closes his eyes, a sudden heat in his stomach, blood echoes in his veins.  
Sherlock pushes him on the bed and John obeys, silence is so violent that every swish they make is deafening. Sherlock's fingers on his chest are light, followed by his lips, his tongue, his teeth. He draws a map on his chest. He undoes John's fly with one firm gesture, slowly, there's no need to hurry, everything has slowed down, the sheets are rough and soft and cold and warm. John tighten his teeth, it isn't his first time, he has had and taken other bodies, but there wasn't this, there wasn't the violent excitement, there weren't Sherlock's eyes, his soft hair under his fingers, there wasn't anything true, anything real.  
He sees Sherlock getting rid of his trousers and pants, an electric shock, John moans upon his lips and kisses him again and again, Sherlock opens up to him, mind, soul, body and heart.  
"It won't hurt" Sherlock sais, somewhere upon him. It wouldn't hurt anyway: he's wanted it too much to let the pain win.  
It's like losing themselves and then finding each other again, it's like drug's haze, but a thousand times different and a thousand times better, it's Sherlock's taste on the tongue, it's to wrap themselves up, it's to chase each other, catching and never letting go again.  
John feels really naked, he knows Sherlock can see through his soul, he is rip apart and uncovered, a body without logic thoughts, something that only Sherlock can recompose. And he does so, slowly, with careful, delicate gestures, with whispered words and drops of sweat which break on his skin and a word, "John, John, John" which loses itsmeaning to gain a new one, something that he's never seen, something incredible and wonderful which makes all the sense in the world only when his lips too are able to pronounce "Sherlock, Sherlock...".  
These are the only words that come out his lips, everything else is flesh, blood, soul, everything else surrounds him like an infinite spiral of pleasure, pain, pleasure, pain, pleasure, pain, pleasure, pain.

"Sherlock...".


End file.
